


A Revelation in the Lion's Den

by Meabd



Series: The Night Was Full of Terrors [2]
Category: Fullmetal Alchemist - All Media Types, Fullmetal Alchemist: Brotherhood & Manga
Genre: Angst, Crime Scenes, Eventual Smut, Fluff, M/M, Sequel, more unapologetic refusal to accept cannon, playing detective
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-04-02
Updated: 2019-04-24
Packaged: 2020-01-01 05:48:25
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 4
Words: 6,418
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/18329861
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Meabd/pseuds/Meabd
Summary: A series of violent crimes plague Central City, and it seems as if something big is on the horizon. Can Roy and Ed's bourgeoning relationship handle the strain, or will it all come crashing down?





	1. Prologue

      Al had the patience of a saint when it came to Ed. Not many people could handle his irritable, short tempered older brother the way Al could, but _honestly_ even saints had their limits. Eight weeks had passed since Edward had submitted to the life saving surgery that he’s so vehemently opposed, much to Winry and Al’s shock and pleasure. Eight _weeks_ of non stop complaining, sass and peevishness. Al understood, to a point, that cabin fever had set in and Ed just wasn’t the kind of person that dealt well with being unoccupied. He sympathised with his older brother, he really did, but it wasn’t coincidence that Al had started tutoring at his university every night to escape the invalid’s ire.

      That’s not to say Ed was being left alone —Al was at his wits end, not a _monster_ —because almost every night since the surgery, one Roy Mustang found his way to the Elric’s dining room table for dinner. Al didn’t quite know what to make of it at first. The conversation was always mundane; office drama of Mustang’s, what Ed had read that day, etc. The tone, while not always affable, was never as strained as what it had been before the surgery. Al supposed he could chalk it up to his own interference, when he not so subtly threatened the General into talking sense to his older brother... but that didn’t seem right either. The easiest answer was a romantic relationship, but Al was _not_ going to assume something like that without any evidence. They never touched one another, Al had seen no lingering looks, and General Mustang always left as soon as he helped with the dishes. Honestly, he didn’t really care either way and _certainly_ didn’t want to dwell on any romantic entanglements his brother might have. Ew. 

      Regardless of the nature of the relationship between his older brother and _much_ older superior officer, Al couldn’t help but be rather pleased with the situation. The General was a pleasant man to be around, and his _being around_ meant that Al didn’t feel as bad about actively avoiding his older brother during this... difficult period. Besides, at the end of the day he just wanted Ed to be happy—and if the subtle shine of contentment in his brother’s eyes was to be trusted, Alphonse was pretty sure he’d found that happiness.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Okay, so here is the much awaited sequel to Tequila, Rose and Cigarettes. Only... three years later? I highly recommend reading that series, as it serves as a prologue to this one. I'll be aiming to update once every week so this would finish up sometime in September? 
> 
> That aside, I currently do not have an editor, so if anybody feels like beta-ing for me... please drop a line?


	2. Times of Trouble

     Roy Mustang was a man accustomed to action. He hadn’t risen through the ranks to the lofty office of General by sitting behind a desk doing paperwork all day, thank you very much. What he’d neglected to remind himself of, however, when reaching ever higher to ever loftier goals, was that humdrum was the norm, not the exception, of every high ranking officer’s work life. This was generally regarded as a positive thing, of course, as the services of high ranking officers were typically only called for in times of danger, which Roy had had his fill of after the Promised Day. Even still, the General couldn’t help but hope for someone or something to rise up and call his attention away from the endless stack of acquisition requests, requisition requests, leave requests and every other goddamn thing the bloated military required a signed permission slip for these days.

     It was 1630 and the only thing on Roy’s mind as he signed paper after paper was getting out of the godforsaken building and having a nice quiet night in with Edward. In the weeks that followed his surgery the two had fallen in to a nice rhythm of bickering over what to cook for dinner, hashing out the day’s goings-on and parting ways after hours of basking in each other’s presence. Things with Ed had developed surprisingly slow, with Roy having followed the younger man’s lead of being relatively hands off. He wasn’t sure if it was because Ed wasn’t ‘out’ to Alphonse (though the knowing looks he’d been on the receiving end of made him think the younger Elric suspected what was going on) or if it was just Edward’s general lack of experience that had them stuck in the no-man’s land of chaste kisses and blue balls.

     Roy didn’t mind, he really didn’t. It was honestly a dream come true, something he’d never dared to let himself imagine a scant two months ago. And honestly, getting to know the object of his affection outside of a professional setting was a good thing. Every new facet he discovered about Edward made him fall even harder for the young man, as saccharine as it might sound. And even though these revelations were fairly mundane—Roy now knew his favourite colour _and_ preferred food—they shed a bit of light on the enigma that is Edward Elric. While Roy was still waiting for Ed to open up about other, more serious things (he’d vowed to himself to murder whoever put those scars on his back) Roy was content to let Ed disclose that information in is own time. 

     “Sir?” Roy was startled by a knock at the door. His watch read 1650, with great trepidation he looked up from his paperwork. 

     “Hawkeye?” Riza stood in the open doorway, a troubled look on her face. 

     “There’s a crime scene Fuhrer Grumman wants some input on... he asked for Edward but—” Roy waved a hand of dismissal. 

     “That’s not possible. Can’t they send over the photographs from forensics?” Riza’s lips pursed, she slowly shook her head. 

     “The estimate is fifty dead, sir.” 

     “Meet me at the entrance in five.” 

* * *

 

     The crime scene was a disaster. Most were, but this was one of epic proportions. The warehouse itself wasn’t out of the norm, if a bit small for the area. No, it was the sheer scape of the carnage that lent to the horror. It seemed as if every inch of the run down warehouse was slick with blood, from tough concrete floors to paint speckled walls; not even the sagging ceiling was spared. Lumps of flesh, some human and some animal, littered the area, with no rhyme or reason, and the only space that seemed even remotely untouched was the circular cage at the centre of the room. Roy understood why the body count was a hesitant fifty; the way in which the mismatched limbs were strewn haphazardly about made it nearly impossible to tell how many _complete_ cadavers they were looking at. One thing was sure: a chimera alchemist was afoot. 

     “We haven’t gotten _any_ prints,” a junior forensic officer complained, peeling his gloves off as he struggled up from his perch kneeling over a hand that was part human and mostly bird.

     “You’re kidding. Nothing? The _entire_ building?” Roy’s tone was less than friendly, the technician shrugged. 

     “Nada. It’s unheard of. Outside has plenty, sure, but there are no whole prints that are discernibly human inside. Either they were _very_ thorough, or it’s some kind of alchemy thing... but you’d be the expert on that,” Roy’s brow furrowed. He knew of no such thing that could selectively destroy evidence like that. Then again, his area of study _was_ rather narrow. 

     “Take the human parts and try to ID them. Check prints and see if we can’t get a more accurate reading on casualties,” Roy ordered the technician, motioning to put his gloves back on.

     “Sir, I’m not sure all the phalanges are... human?” Roy pinched the bridge of his nose in a half-hearted attempt to stave away the headache he was sure to have. 

     “Then you can lift the animal prints, Corporal, and what you can’t match via printing you can infer via alchemical lay lines. The lab will figure it out, just bag it.” His voice obviously sounded more confident than he felt, if the way the young technician scrambled to relay his orders was anything to go by.

     With as much conviction as Roy had barking orders, it’s not _him_ that Grumman wanted on this case, it was  _Ed_. Roy should have figured that sidelining Ed’s leave request would come back to bite him in the ass; for all intents and purposes Edward Elric was still a fully functioning member of his team, and not laid up in bed after a major surgery. Goddamn paperwork. 

     Roy examined the mismatched bodies witch a detached, muted sense of dread. Even without an intimate understanding of chimera alchemy, Roy knew that these weren’t the clumsy experiments of a fledgling alchemist; these were the products of a studied mind with years of experience. An altogether more terrifying thought. That being said, alchemy was not the end for these poor creatures, violence was. The ones left mostly intact had mortal wounds, none seemed to perish at the hand of faulty science... whether or not their violent end was a benediction or a curse Roy was not in a position to judge. A human torso skilfully blended with that of a lion still had a claw lodged in its throat... the nail was bloody at the end, suggesting an abrupt tear from the feline paw it was attached to. Roy bit his own thumb nail, trying not to imagine the pain the creature had felt as its appendage was ripped away from its flesh. 

     Roy tore his gaze away from the viscera to examine the cage, alchemically created and hastily at that, at the centre of the warehouse. Oddly, there was no flesh _inside_ the cage, only blood. _Lots_ of blood. Underneath the claret Roy could make out the painted curves of an array, one that was more complicated than the General had ever seen before. Even a cursory look at what little was visible from underneath the blood was disconcerting; this was far beyond the scope of human transmutation; the circle had both modern and arcane elements. Roy felt a weight in the pit of his stomach; this was beyond his expertise. He couldn’t call upon Ed for a second opinion —that was inconceivable —and getting Alphonse on the scene would raise more questions than he was comfortable answering. 

     The professional thing to do, the _smart_ thing to do, would be to damn his feelings and bring the expert in. The only problem was that the expert was on medical leave and wouldn’t let such an insignificant thing as major surgery get in his way of his ferreting out the truth. 

     Roy glanced at his watch. It was late, Ed was probably wondering where he was. 

     “Hawkeye, hold down the fort, I need to make a call,” Roy really should’ve thought to do this before leaving the office, the audio on car phones was utter garbage. As the General stepped outside, he sucked in a breath of fresh air. He relished momentarily the lack of that cloyingly metallic taste that had settled in the back of his throat, nauseatingly sour and next to impossible to swallow around.

     Roy slid in to the front seat of the black military issued car, he grabbed the receiver and quickly dialled the Elric's. Barely one ring sounded before Ed's staticky voice started to berate him.

     “Where the... you?” Roy could imagine the colourful expletive dropped by poor connection. 

     “Been an incident at work, I won’t be able to make it tonight. I’m sorry love,” the pause, while brief, was telling. Ed still wasn’t used to terms of endearment. 

     “Is... okay?... alright?” Ed’s voice was softer, not quite _concerned_ per se, but not as angry as before. 

     “Yes, yes, all good on the home front. I need to go, but I’ll swing by for dinner tomorrow if I can,” Roy heard Ed’s broken voice indistinctly through the receiver as he hung up. 

     He knows he should have said something, he should have asked Ed’s opinion or offered to come by with photos. He knows this. But he also knows _Edward_ , and that stubborn, beautiful bastard wouldn’t be staying on bedrest with something like this astir. 

      _I can’t let Ed know._

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Okay, so I'm posting this a bit early since the prologue is very short- for reader reference the date is August 1st, 1917. This is going to be following the same format as TR&C with POV switching between Ed and Roy every other chapter. 
> 
> I hope you all enjoy! Please feel free to reach out with concrit (or if anyone would like to beta)-- and have fun guessing the origins of each chapter title! They won't all be as easy as this one, I promise ;D


	3. Walking the Wire

     It had been almost a week since Ed had seen Roy. At first Ed had actually _missed_ the rat bastard. He spent four _excruciating_ days mulling about the house, doing half hearted research and waiting for Al to get home. Then on Sunday, his little brother had grabbed the paper, even though neither of them made a habit of reading tabloid garbage.

_‘Death Toll Rises in Wake of Mysterious Alchemical Disaster!’_

     “Heard from General Mustang?” Al had dropped the offending newsprint onto Ed’s lap. The question hung between them, Ed mutely shook his head. There wasn’t a doubt in Edward’s mind that this is what had “come up” for Roy to have virtually abandoned him like he had.

     “The article is pretty nonspecific,” Al nodded for Ed to flip the page, “there’s no information on what kind of ‘alchemical disaster’ it was, how the deceased had met their end, or even an educated _guess_ as to how many are actually dead,” Ed’s eyes scanned the rather sensational account.

     “Between ten and fifty my ass. Fuckin’ incompetence is _astounding_ ,”Ed grumbled, tossing the paper back at Alphonse.

     “It doesn’t say who’s working the case...” Al sat down next to Ed on the couch, “you think maybe it’s not him?” Of _course_ it was him. Ed wanted—no, _needed_ — Roy to have a decent excuse for this. The part of him that knew his commanding officer was screaming _‘Deception! Manipulation! Lies!,’_ and Ed could only hope that his lack of knowledge of personal-Roy could bridge the gap between the assumptions he’d made and the fears he harboured.

     He said none of this aloud.

     In fact, the following two days he didn’t even _mention_ it, waiting (in vain) for Roy to call, to visit, _anything_ to explain away what Ed could only see as a massive betrayal. And honestly? He felt pathetic for it. His simmering anger had cooled to a heavy weight in the pit of his stomach, and rage had turned to icy disappointment. Disappointment in Roy, for being the man Edward always thought him to be, and disappointment in _himself_ for ever believing him to be anything else.

     Al, for his part, said nothing about it. Neither had he given Ed a wide berth, rather the younger Elric continued on as if nothing had happened (though he _was_ coming home earlier than he had been in the past few weeks). All the better, really, since Ed had gotten so used to having Mustang around as a distraction that the sudden lack of conversation was driving him up the fucking wall.

     Tuesday brought with it an incredibly sour mood. Around 4:30 Ed had about all he could take of the silence, and he found himself tugging his boots on for a short walk. _Very_ short, because if Al discovered him missing he’d have his head. Which, frankly, was ridiculous in Ed’s opinion. It’s not as if a jaunt around the block would kill him, and it’s not exactly his first time recovering from automail surgery either. He placed the blame of Al’s overprotectiveness solely on the shoulders of Winry having made such a big deal of “blood poisoning” this and “sure death” that. Drama queen.

     While Ed was marginally less pent up in the open air, he _did_ find himself slowing down just a little too much as he passed the corner news stand. There had been no update that Al had told him about, and none of that day’s papers made mention of leads in the case. He _really_ needed to put it out of his mind. Ed slowed to a stop at the corner, having already made the block. He gave a languid stretch, not really wanting to go back _already_ , but at a loss as to what he wanted to do. He was bored to tears but utterly and completely unmotivated. How very un-Ed-like.

     “You shouldn’t be up and about, Fullmetal.” The anger Ed had pushed away in favour of cool displeasure came back in full force; he saw red.

     “Mustang,” Ed’s tone was low, quiet and full of accusation. He turned to find the older man standing a few feet away, his military jacket draped over one shoulder with a bag of takeout in his left hand. He looked criminally handsome.

     “I brought dinner. Cretan alright with you?”Roy’s expression was carefully neutral and his voice suspiciously casual. Ed glared.

     “Can we _not_ do this on the street corner? Ed?” The plea was soft, and Mustang _seemed_ sincere. It infuriated Ed that the bastard was right, making a scene wouldn’t be good for _either_ of them... and unfortunately for Ed he still cared enough about the stupid asshole that he acquiesced.

     “ _Fine_ ,” Ed grit out before making his way toward his apartment, not sparing a look back at his superior officer.

     The walk home felt like an eternity, even though it was probably closer to a minute or two. The pair approached the apartment and Ed fumble with the key, yanking the door open with a little more force than was strictly necessary. Mustang gently shut the front entrance and set the bag of food down next to the kitchen threshold. The quiet stillness that fell upon them was oppressive.

     “Where the _fuck_ have you been,” Ed snarled, turning to grab the well worn newspaper he’d spent the last two days pouring over, “and what the _fuck_ is this,” he threw the paper at Mustang, it fell short by at least a foot, and the General made no move to pick it up.

     “I’ve missed you too, dear,” Mustang quirked an eyebrow, his sardonic attempt to diffuse the situation failing miserably; Ed was having none of it.

     “I’m _sorry_. I’ve been caught in a PR nightmare the past couple of days. _That_ ,” he gestured to the paper between them, “was a big, flashy mistake made by an amateur alchemist that got in over his head.” Ed glared at Roy, arms crossed. He let the silence between them grow heavy, and despite Ed’s pointed scowl Roy’s gaze was open and unflinching.

     “The article mentioned a pretty hight body count...” Ed uncrossed his arms, letting his guard down a fraction of an inch.

     “Unfortunate bystanders caught in the blast. Not sure how many, since they were mostly in pieces,” Roy’s explanation was given with equal amounts of sympathy and nonchalance.

     “You could have called,” Ed grouched.

     “You could have, too,” Roy said pointedly. Ed had no reply, Roy was right, he _could_ have called. But he didn’t. Ed was too busy playing the lover scorned, and for a moment he felt childish for it. Roy stepped forward to brush a single gloved hand against Ed’s cheek. Against his better judgement, Ed leaned in to the caress.

     “Trust me, Edward,” Roy whispered, a hint of desperation in his voice.

     “I _do_ , you idiot. Just don’t make me regret it,” the warning was clear, and Roy began to draw back into himself.

     “Oh get over here you asshole,” Ed yanked Roy’s wrist, hard enough to send him stumbling into the shorter man. The scent of spicy aftershave and a hint of roses overcame Ed, he _missed_ this.

     “What, not hungry?” Bemusement tinged with relief coloured his voice, and the low rumble of a soft chuckle reverberated against Ed’s cheek. Warm fingers snaked their way up Ed’s sides as Roy gently untucked his tank top. Ed shook his head, relishing the feel of strong hands on his waist.

     “In a minute,” Ed pulled away just enough to nudge Roy toward the living room. He got the hint.

* * *

 

     “Brother, you _know_ you’re supposed to be on bed rest, if you wanted takeout you should have just _asked_ ,” Al’s exasperated voice rang out from the entryway, jerking Ed into wakefulness. The room was dark, they’d been asleep longer than he expected.

     “Didn’t do nothin’” Ed grumbled through a yawn, trying in vain to wiggle out from under Roy’s arms. Al poked his head in the living room, an irate look on his face, only to pause awkwardly at the scene before him.

     Roy, dead to the world, kept a vicelike hold on the blond. In a sleepy tangle of limbs, Ed had settled into the narrow space between long legs, his chin rest on his superior’s sternum as he strained to see over the back of the couch. He locked eyes with his younger brother, who looked as if he’d just witnessed something he _really_ shouldn’t have.

     “I’ll just... go heat up the food then,” Al muttered (mostly to himself) before retreating from the room post-haste. Ed groaned; cat’s out of the bag then. 

     “Hey, asshole, wake up,” he squirmed a bit more, bumping his nose against the side of Roy’s neck.

     “...just five more minutes,” Roy grunted, his voice gruff with sleep. Ed dug his thumb into the soft flesh just below Roy’s bottom rib and was rewarded with a surprised hiss of pain. With his grip slackened somewhat, Ed saw his chance for escape and took it.

     “Get up, General bastard, Al’s heating up the food you brought,” Ed struggled up off the couch, his balance not exactly the best being down a limb. Roy threw a hand over his face and nodded.

     “I’ll be there in a minute,” he grumbled, not at all happy to be roused as violently as he was. Ed rolled his eyes, abandoning Roy in favour of food— _God I’m starving_. He mad his way into the kitchen, struggling to roll out a crick in his neck. Al stood at the stove, studiously stirring away. The warm aroma of Cretan spices wafted through the kitchen and Ed’s stomach gave a violent gurgle.

     “So you two made up then, I take it?” Al didn’t turn around, Ed shrugged and gave a non-committal grunt. Al glanced over his shoulder briefly before turning his eyes back to the pot.

     “He must have had a pretty good explanation for you to have let it go, is all...” Al kept his pitch low, in an obvious effort to not be overheard by the offending party.

     “Drop it, Al,” Ed warned, flopping gracelessly down in to one of the rickety dining room chairs. His little brother had a point, as much as it pained Ed to admit it. For all he had ranted and raved about ‘General Dickwad’ being a conniving asshole, Ed had given him very little trouble when it came time for him to explain himself. Part in parcel, Ed _wanted_ to believe Roy. He _liked_ their relationship, as tenuous as it felt at times. He knew that Roy respected him (at least a little) and was banking a lot on that respect to keep Roy from exercising some of his less savoury habits of deviousness and duplicity.

     “Mhmm. Food’s ready. Go fetch your _boyfriend_ ,” Al’s voice turned teasing, Ed sputtered.

     “He’s not —we’re —I’m —shut _up.” Great comeback there._ Ed stood up a little too fast and retreated to the living-room. He found Roy exactly as he had left him, arm thrown over his face and obviously still asleep. Ed rolled his eyes, wrestling between being annoyed and being utterly and completely _charmed_ by the domesticity of it all. He went with annoyed.

     “Up and at ‘em, time to munch,” he tugged on a strand of dark hair. Roy blinked sleepily up at him, and Ed smiled despite himself. “Ass up, before the food gets cold. Again.”

     Roy sat up and tugged Ed’s hand to his lips, where he pressed a soft kiss on his knuckles. Ed pulled his hand away and found himself hoping —not for the last time —that his feeling of unease was unfounded.

     “Alright, alright, let’s eat,” Roy’s smile was warm, but didn’t quite reach his eyes.


	4. Beast of Burden

     Wednesday morning found Roy slumped low in his desk chair, feet propped up and head thrown back. Falling asleep on the Elric’s couch had _not_ done wonders for his back and he was really feeling it now. Granted, on a purely _emotional_ level he felt both miles better and significantly worse, part and parcel because he had “made up” with Edward as he had overheard Al put it.

     On one hand, while the six days he’d spent in his self imposed isolation hadn’t been _tortuous_ , they certainly hadn’t been fun. At first he hadn’t made up his mind whether or not to tell Ed about the crime, but as time dragged on (and with it, his silence) that option seemed less and less viable. When that damn newspaper published its (rather vague) exposé on the situation, Roy knew he had to double down. The guilt he felt over not coming clean to Ed was completely and totally eclipsed by the fear of the young man over-involving himself to the detriment of his own health. He knew then that he couldn’t let sleeping dogs lie, and the only way out was through—a prospect that, for a world class bullshitter like Roy, should seem much less daunting than it was.

     Faced with lying to Ed, Roy could sense the tremors of something big reverberate through their tenuous connection.

_“Just don’t make me regret it,”_

_“...don’t make me regret it,”_

_“....regret it,”_

     Regret was something Roy had on lock. The oppressive weight of bitter unease settled heavy in his chest, making it hard to catch his breath. Roy felt like a child sneaking cookies before dinner—as if he was doing something incredibly _wrong_.

     “Pictures from the scene just got in!” The bright and cheery voice of Maes Hughes broke through Roy’s dark thoughts. His friend had let himself in (as he _always_ does, the annoying bastard) and was holding a manilla folder in one hand.

     “What are you doing with that Hughes? This isn’t your case,”Roy sat up a bit straighter in his seat, arching one eyebrow at his intruding friend.

     “Pish posh, Roy. You know Investigations does all photo development of case sensitive materials! Besides, I just _had_ to gush about how _impeccably_ photogenic you are!” Roy frowned. Hughes pulled a photo from the folder, one that had been on top and flicked it over. Years of knife training served him well as the picture landed directly in front of Roy. One that wasn’t of the crime scene at all, but of _him_ talking on a car phone, half in and half out of the vehicle. Even at a distance, the camera picked up on his furrowed brow.

     “And _why_ , might I ask, was this taken?” Hughes shrugged, noncommittal.

     “Oh, I may have asked some friends to keep an eye on you. You’ve been under an _awful_ lot of stress lately,” he nodded sagely, sinking in to the guest chair in front of the heavy mahogany desk. Hughes crossed his long legs, making a show of taking up as much room as he could. He leaned an elbow on the arm of the chair and rest his chin on the palm of his hand. He stared at Roy waiting for a reaction.

     “Yes of course, makes perfect sense,” Roy nodded amicably as he held one hand out in silent askance for the folder. He knew Hughes was baiting him and refused to give him the satisfaction. The bespectacled man frowned, handing the folder over with only a moment of hesitation.

     “So what did Edward have to say about the array? I’m sure he got something we didn’t, even without photo’s for reference. Which, now that you have these, will you be taking off to the Elric’s?” No beating around the bush, then. Maes always knew too much for Roy’s taste, of _course_ the evenings spent with the Elric’s hadn’t escaped his notice. Roy didn’t know if his friend was being purposefully obtuse or if he really _didn’t_ know that Roy had kept Ed in the dark on this one. Either way it’s not something that would stay under wraps for very long, and Roy _really_ didn’t want Maes to be the one to let it slip to Edward that he’d lied.

     “Fullmetal isn’t in any place to be back at work yet, his services have not been requested,” Roy’s clipped voice left no room for argument. So Hughes made room.

     “Now that’s just silly Roy, he can consult on theory without being on scene. You really can’t intend on keeping him in the dark on this one, especially since _no one else_ has any clue what that alchemy nonsense was really trying to accomplish,” Maes had leaned forward to rest his elbows on his knees. Roy grit his teeth.

     “You know, for someone that just happened to stumble upon the case photos you seem to know a lot about the case itself,” Roy pointed out, Hughes shrugged, a half smile making a mockery of Roy. Neither of them would concede and this was a dance they had performed many times before.

     “All I’m saying is that it’s obvious help is needed,” Maes made a move to stand, “now whether that help comes from Edward _himself_ or from the young Alphonse is of little importance,” Roy pressed two fingers against his throbbing temple.

     It’s not as if he hadn’t already considered enlisting Alphonse’s help. Two not so insignificant problems kept that from becoming reality; Alphonse was a civilian, and sharing information with someone not in possession of military clearance was punishable as treason. While he _could_ file the correct paperwork to bring him on as a consultant, thereby giving him appropriate access, there was still the issue of _asking Edward’s brother to lie to him_. Roy considered this to be the more daunting of the two issues. Even _if_ they went through appropriate channels to bring Alphonse on to the case, Roy would still have to make sure he kept his brother in the dark; which was as immoral as it was unlikely.

     He said none of this to Maes, the stubborn bastard wouldn’t listen to reason even if he tried.

     “Yes, well, Hughes, thank you for bringing this by, you’ve been _very_ helpful,” Roy’s tone clearly implied that Hughes was not helpful in the least. He flicked his wrist dismissively to shoo his friend out of the office. Hughes leaned against the door frame, making no movement to exit.

     “Actually Roy, dropping that off wasn’t the only reason I came by...” _Of course not, that would be too easy_. “...another scene was uncovered, early this morning. I’ve already got forensics down there, thought I’d come and fetch _you_ myself.”

     Fantastic. Absolutely wonderful. The Top Brass was going to chew Roy a new asshole for making _zero_ progress with the first scene, and now they had another mass murder on their hands. Hopefully the press won’t catch wind of _this_ one.

     “I _do_ know how to contact Alphonse,” Hughes prompted Roy, breaking the deafening silence of the General’s pessimistic musings.

     “And I suppose you’ve already filed all of the appropriate paperwork as well?” Roy’s voice was tired and he wasn’t even a little surprised when Maes winked.

     “I hate you. Make the call, I’ll pick him up on the way over.”

* * *

 

     The ride to the scene was fraught with tension. Roy briefed Alphonse on the first crime, handing him the photos of the alchemical circle from the warehouse and a couple shots of the more intact corpses. The young blond furrowed his brow, a look of intense concentration awash over his features. He looked up from his macabre study only as the car slowed to a stop in front of a warehouse.

     This one was slightly larger than the last, though still unassuming. An iron gate stood open, the wooden door it was protecting, however, was still firmly shut. _This one is better guarded than the last_ , Roy hummed a bit to himself as he threw the door open. Wordlessly Alphonse followed him, bringing only the photo of the array from the last scene.

     Mercifully, the carnage here was minimal. Blood, and lots of it, congealed in puddles all over the warehouse floor. At the centre of the otherwise empty room stood another cage, much like the one at the last crime scene. One thing was conspicuously missing though: bodies.

     Alphonse wandered over to the cage to inspect the array while Roy glanced around, looking for the head technician. Near the edge of the room a petite woman spoke to two young men, obviously giving orders. Roy headed their way, taking a small measure of amusement from the way the young men fled when they noticed his approach.

     “First Lieutenant Morgan, good to see you’re back,” Roy greeted the senior forensics officer. She looked up at him, looking only _mildly_ irked. Lena Morgan was a no-nonsense woman in her mid-forties. She was direct, competent, and often quite scary.

     “General Mustang. You took a while to get here,” her voice was flatly unimpressed with his greeting. Roy smiled apologetically.

     “I’m sorry about that First Lieutenant, I had to pick up our civilian consultant on the case...” he nodded towards the younger Elric who was already on his hands and knees, closely examining the painted array. Lena sniffed derisively.

     “Explains his lack of manners,” she grouched, obviously incensed that Alphonse hadn’t come to her to show his credentials (a rather rude oversight indeed).

     “Ah, yes, well I believe I've left his papers in the car—”

     “I don’t care, General,” she cut him off curtly. “Just be quick, I want to wrap this up before dinner and the longer your ‘consultation’ takes the longer _we’ll_ be here cleaning up,” Roy nodded, leaving her to impress upon Alphonse the necessity for speed.

     As Roy approached, Alphonse glanced up at him. His face was unreadable.

     “General Mustang, have your people decoded these symbols yet?” Alphonse pointed to a glyph in the outer ring of the circle that was distinctly un-alchemical.

     “No, that’s what I brought you in for, actually,” Roy sighed. He had really been banking on Alphonse having some miraculous insight that would have warranted bringing him in on the case. It seemed he would not be so lucky.

     “Well I can tell you this: the array has changed before the last... incident and this one,” Alphonse handed Roy the photograph he had been examining before continuing, “however, the only elements that have changed are those glyphs. They aren’t alchemy, but it’s not any language I know of either.”Sure enough, Roy looked closely at the grainy image in his hands. The strange sigils encircling the array and woven into its inner workings looked to be the only altered element.

     “Granted, it would be much easier to tell you what was being changed if there was any product to examine...” Alphonse trailed off, that inscrutable look of his morphing in to something rather more troubled.

     “If that’s all General, can I go?” Alphonse stood. Roy frowned down at him.

     “I’ll drive you home Alphonse, let me just wrap things up here,” the blond nodded at him.

     “I’ll wait in the car, then,” he walked away before Roy could get a word in edgewise. He really wasn’t looking forward to the discussion he was going to have to have with the young alchemist.

     This thought weighed heavily on Roy’s mind as he tied up loose ends. Paperwork having been signed, the General bid First Lieutenant Morgan adieu before heading out to the vehicle. Alphonse was already in the passenger seat, eyes closed and head back. He didn’t move when Roy opened the door. The silence was broken by the engine sputtering to life, and Roy savoured the brief moment of tranquility before steeling his resolve.

     “Big brother’s going to be _pissed_ you know,” Alphonse’s tone was conversational, though he still hadn’t moved to look at Roy. The brunette let out the breath he had been holding.

     “I was... rather hoping he wouldn’t find out,” Roy admitted quietly, to which Alphonse finally turned an incredulous gaze toward him.

     “You’re joking, right? Sir?” Roy shook his head. “Ignoring the fact that he already knows there’s something up thanks to that article, have you considered what’s going to happen when this doesn’t get resolved quickly?” Roy kept his eyes on the road. Alphonse was absolutely right. “Are you just going to keep lying to him—have _me_ lie to him?”

     “I wouldn’t dream of telling you to deceive Edward if I didn’t think it was absolutely necessary,” Rot’s voice was steadier than he felt, Alphonse said nothing but nodded once for him to continue. “You know what kind of man your brother is; so stubborn, _so_ reckless, something _this_ big he would insist on being in the thick of things,” he could see Alphonse’s slow nod in his periphery. “I have a bad feeling about this case, Alphonse,” Roy confessed, “I know it sounds cheap when I put it like this, but I can’t shake the feeling that this is going to get worse before it gets better,” somehow putting that sinking feeling in to words didn’t at all alleviate his sense of dread.

     “You’re trying to protect my brother, who we both know won’t protect _himself_ ,” Roy sucked in a breath between his teeth, but Alphonse raised a hand to stop his interruption. “Your intentions, while admirable, are misdirected. Treating Ed like a child is just going to make him even angrier with you when this all eventually comes out,” Roy hated how on the nose Alphonse’s assessment was. He continued.

     “Regardless, _I_ won’t be the one to spill the beans,” the blond was clearly implying that Roy should be the one to come clean.

     “Thank you, Alphonse,” the General purposefully misunderstood this implication. The younger man rolled his eyes at the manipulation of his sentiment.

     “If you’re serious about keeping this under wraps drop me off here then go get some take-out. Brother’s been craving Xingan,” Roy glanced over at Alphonse before slowing to a stop, a good block or two away from their apartment. Al raised an eyebrow in response. “Us showing up together might raise more questions than you’d like to answer, Sir.” His tone was as pointed as his stare, and Roy felt like a goddamn idiot.

     Before the General could formulate a response, Alphonse shut the car door and started down the shaded pathway to his home. Roy let himself pause for just a moment longer before throwing the vehicle in to reverse and heading to their regular take-out place, the Golden Dragon.

     The deeper Roy Mustang dug this hole of deception, the surer he was he’d be buried alive in it... it was only a matter of time.

**Author's Note:**

> Okay, so here is the much awaited sequel to Tequila, Rose and Cigarettes. Only... three years later? I highly recommend reading that series, as it serves as a prologue to this one. I'll be aiming to update once every week so this would finish up sometime in September? 
> 
> That aside, I currently do not have an editor, so if anybody feels like beta-ing for me... please drop a line?


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